


Drops of Jupiter

by PthaloGreen



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Post-Sburb/Sgrub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:32:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PthaloGreen/pseuds/PthaloGreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jade Harley dreams of planets that don't exist whilst Dave Strider gets whiplash from trying to look after the girl who fell in love with the sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drops of Jupiter

Drops of Jupiter

 

There are a lot of girls in this city, a lot of girls with red shoes and more still with long dark hair. There are plenty of girls with the kind of complexion that only comes from natural sunlight and calves that were built on living the way nature intended people to rather than living at the gym. Girls have never been in short supply. Girls have certainly never been in a short supply for _you._

In every respect, there is absolutely nothing special about Jade Harley. She’s just another girl, just another goddess in a city resembling Olympus. She’s not the wind in the trees and she’s not a rose amongst the thorns. She’s not your every waking thought and frankly until she stepped off the train just one carriage ahead of you you’d all but forgotten she existed at all. Your heart does not soar when you think about Jade Harley. It has been a long time since you even viewed her as something delicate and precious, the princess you were duty-bound to protect and keep safe from the mere abrasion of seasalt and hail. You learnt a long time ago that some things cannot be tamed and you’ve come a long way from being the boy who carried the world on his shoulders.

Jade Harley was never your problem and she continues to be no business of yours, just like you’re no business of hers or John’s or Rose’s. None of you needed reminders of the age behind your years and the scars beneath fresh, smooth skin lovingly rendered from the ruins of a childhood obscured by fire and hurt.

You don’t need Jade Harley. You can go about your day as usual and by evening you will probably have forgotten all about seeing Jade Harley’s feet on the concrete platform, her steps ghosting lightly on the surface as if it would give way like the sands and grasses she was used to.

It’s not your business to talk to Jade Harley; you don’t have to protect her anymore. Her whims and needs are none of your concern and you shouldn’t feel guilty for not checking just in case.

There is no point in caring for a girl who belongs to an island, a girl who lives for the sun.

It will break your heart. You know that already; in countless other lives the way you cared for her has literally been the _death_ of you and even though you can’t see them you can feel the scars in places no one else knows about from each and every one. People push past your frame, too skinny for your height in ways you hate, as you stay glued to the floor in a train of thought you’re trying too hard to convince yourself you’re not experiencing in the first place; there are hundreds of girls in this city with skin that radiates heat like the sun and eyes that glow like kryptonite in the ways Jade Harley’s do. There are hundreds of girls that laugh grossly like a horse in a way that should be totally unflattering but is somehow stupidly endearing the way you remember Jade Harley doing after every one of your corny jokes as if it were yesterday.

There are thousands of girls on this earth who need you more than Jade Harley, there are more girls you could need more than you need Jade Harley – in fact, you don’t need her at _all_. You’ve been doing _fine_ without her – without _anyone._

You watch her pull out a streetmap from her rucksack, rocking on the heels of her red platforms and blowing a strand of hair from the surface of the glasses that were already out of style when she was young.

Your name is Dave Strider and you are 21 years old. You live in an apartment that overlooks nothing but sky and you work six days a week at a job you hate. Your relationship status is permanently set to ‘it’s complicated’ because that’s easier than explaining that for you kissing became an act of necessity rather than a display of affection before you were even old enough to know what proper affection was. The train you departed is pulling out of the station and the people on the platform have thinned out, each with somewhere to be, just like you.

You have somewhere you need to be but you can’t tear your eyes off the girl standing at the barriers, tongue sticking in in concentration as she attempts to read a map of a city you’re guessing she’s never visited before in her life and all of a sudden you remember what it was like to be thirteen, cocky and arrogant with an answer for everything but undoubtedly _happy_ about your situation. 13-year-old you is laughing at 21-year-old you because you are a pussy who took 8 years to realise that you became everything you never wanted to be and you have _had_ it with your mediocre life because how come Jade Harley gets to be miles from home on some kind of adventure with a rucksack that’s probably full of cool junk while you have to go to work and sit in an office with people who are full of shit all day, safe in the knowledge that you will go home to an empty apartment and if you don’t return the next day no one will miss you?

Jade Harley is folding up her map.

Jade Harley is putting it back in her backpack.

Jade Harley is looking everywhere that isn’t you.

_Look at me, you stupid short-sighted bint, I’m right fucking here._

Jade Harley appears to have located the landmark she was looking for.

_Look at me._

Jade Harley is moving. Jade Harley is going to walk away from you and you’re going to let her.

_Fuck sake, look at me!_

 

You don’t need to do anything.

You don’t need to follow her.

You don’t need to run down the platform yelling like an idiot and attracting the attention of everyone left there, but you do and suddenly a huge weight is lifted from your chest:

Your name is Dave Strider, and for the first time in too long you are doing something because you want to, not because you have to.

 

~~******* ~~

 

She’s a pleasant houseguest: you smile politely to each other and it is every bit as awkward as it was always going to be but neither of you mind. You saved her a fortune on accommodation and she saved your stomach from another week of microwave dinners. The girl can’t cook for shit, but she’s trying and it’s not like you could do better. Your apartment is thrown into chaos as two people accustomed to living alone each find that the other is too stubborn to give up the luxury of simply dumping their stuff wherever the hell they want. There are bras in your cutlery draw and you get mad when you reach for a plate and pull out a hairbrush. She keeps her toothbrush in the kitchen sink and it doesn’t matter how many times you move it to the bathroom it mysteriously always finds its way back. She’s obsessed with trying to feed you, complaining that you let yourself get skinny with worry. You tell her it’s not her business what you do, but you’re glowing. It’s nice to be paid attention to.

It’s no surprise that you catch her looking at you when you change your shirt because you know she’s seen you looking at her too. It’s natural; you’re two adults in a small space and you’re each as curious as each other to scope and document mentally the ways in which you’ve changed. You’re more proud than aroused when you look at her: She has become something more lovely than you ever thought she had the potential to. Her skin has darkened but her hair has lightened in the sun, giving her dark brown curls flecks of gold in the right light.

You catch her one morning sitting alone with a cup of coffee by your glass wall, the sun filtering onto her half-clothed body and dancing on her closed eyelids and you’re spellbound by the way she glows, her colouring being set-off so perfectly that you have to wonder if light itself was made to compliment Jade Harley. When she catches you she grins and beckons you to join her. You sniff and tell her you have places to be before turning sharply and returning to your bedroom before your mind could wander. You would never know the way her shoulders slumped and her fingers curled tighter around her cup. She would never know that the image of herself burned into your brain would bring a shy smile to your face throughout the day, even when dealing with the most difficult of clients.

You still get up and go to work every morning. You take the train into the centre of town together and depart without as much as a hug at the platform: you don’t have to touch, it’s not that kind of relationship. She will go on to explore new places, you to make sure you have something to feed her with this week and the next. On paper, it’s the same old. In your heart, it’s different. You’re not working because you have to anymore; you’re working because you want to have a good time with your friend. For the first time, you understand things about the world that Jade does not. You are fully in control of the aesthetics of this situation: _She_ needs _you_ while she’s here and you know full well that she could leave at any time she wanted to. She is dependent on you and as of yet she doesn’t mind. It feels good to care for something other than yourself. You would like to get used to it, but you’re a realist; you know she will leave at some point. For now, though, she’s yours to keep. She’s yours to keep and it feels _good_.

Jade Harley is, as she always was, a ball of sunshine. When you were kids she was full of love and you remember her smile, chubby and awkward in the ways her new, more defined face is not, with fondness. When all hope was lost, there was Jade. When the end seemed certain, there was Jade. When blood pooled from your chest and your heart was beating double time despite your best efforts to calm yourself which, let’s face it, was always a lost cause given that you were dying and you were terrified – when your vision was fading and you needed someone to lie to you that it was going to be okay, there was Jade.

It was a universal assumption that this was because Jade Harley really was truly happy at any given point. Nobody ever noticed the way her smile faltered when she thought no-one was looking. Nobody really ever asked Jade if she was okay. Nobody picked up on the signs that Jade could be anything other than a girl who was ready to face anything, that Jade could feel just as lost as anyone else even though she spent at least 60% of the time laughing.

You find yourself thinking as she giggles half-heartedly into the pasta she overcooked for the both of you one evening that maybe, then, it was fortunate that she ended up living with you.

You’ve been Jade Harley’s nobody for as long as you can remember and you are beginning to notice that something is wrong.

You ask her if she’d like to talk and it becomes apparent as her eyes go wide and blink a little faster that she definitely would. Her fingers are prized from her knife and fork by your shaking hands as you bundle her into your arms, stroking her hair and cradling her like a baby as she sobs against your chest. It is a clumsy embrace that two people with far too much limb-length probably should never have attempted, but it is frightening to see her this way and you get the feeling as you settle on the couch, resting her in your lap as her words become muffled, that this has been needed for a long time. You’re not sure you want to know how long she’s been alone. Eventually you stop telling her you can’t hear what she’s saying and just let her cry - later still she gets so tired that she just crashes out right there, her cheeks still wet from tears and shining in the dim light. In some ways it’s a relief; in others you know this is probably just the tip of the iceberg. Things are not the usual Dave Strider black and white okay-not okay. Something is not right about this situation and she is not telling you what it is.

You are never going to understand women. Currently though, you’re too exhausted from consoling your sobbing friend for three hours to care.

Her hair tickling your face as she shifts in her sleep is what wakes you. The light from the glass front sets her off perfectly as usual, as if she was never crying at all. Rough fingers trace patterns on smooth cheeks. You like the way she scrunches up her nose when you tap the top of it. With her sleeping in your arms and the light on her face you can pretend you’re closer than you are. Intimacy is a lie but you only have the energy to care about her right now.

You both wake up in the clothes you were wearing yesterday with scruffy hair and red cheeks. She’s thoroughly embarrassed about the whole thing and for some reason that makes _you_ embarrassed for ever having witnessed it. Eventually the awkwardness dissolves into giggles at how you each blush and it’s like it was never a problem at all. You call in sick from the phone in your pocket and just lay there with her on the couch for a while in comfortable silence. After a while she gets up and goes to make you coffee and in the mean time you fetch her hairbrush from the airing cupboard.

The brushing is arduous, but she amuses herself with one of many books about the solar system she brought with her. It takes you forever to comb out her hair but by the end of the ordeal her mane is sleek and soft; it is a unanimous decision confirmed by smiles all round that it was well worthwhile. Her fingers twist and comb it and she is genuinely grateful. Though you’re far from done being worried about her you’re calmed to see a genuine smile on her face.

The rest of the day is spent doing nothing. You move around each other in happy quiet, brushing fingertips in some sort of game neither of you really initiated that doesn’t seem to have any rules when you pass each other in rooms. At some point you realise you’ve been smiling all day. At another she ends up wearing your shirt and it does weird things to your insides when you notice. You ask her politely to remove it because that’s not a way you ever planned to think about her when you invited her here and it’s getting you hot in all the wrong ways. She responds by shoving one of her oversized sweaters over your head the next time she passes you and somehow that takes it back to being nothing more than innocent play, despite the fact that she’s still running around with nothing but her underwear on her lower half.

If she wasn’t stupidly dorkily sexy, it would almost be like having a sibling again.

By the time the light fades you notice that your airing cupboard is suddenly empty and Jade Harley has vanished underneath the contents of it on your living room floor. She pokes her head out and her hair sticks up in weird angles from the static but you melt anyway. You’re reprimanded for attempting to draw the blinds on the glass – she tells you she wants to look at the sky tonight. If she’d told you she wanted to watch ‘The Sound of Music – singalong edition’ six times through you probably still would have agreed by this point. You retrieve pyjamas from various places around the house and distribute them as required. The two of you don’t even care about each other’s bodies anymore, less man and woman than merely Dave and Jade. You’re behaving like pre-schoolers in a weird mix of your PJs and underwear, diving on each other under the sheets and playing hide and seek in the blankets until you’re breathless and tired. A coarse, throaty sound startles you both until you figure out that it’s the sound of you laughing. She begs you to do it again and lies atop your chest, tickling your Adam’s apple with the tips of her fingers until she can coax it out of you again. If you could do it by will you would never stop if that’s all it would take to make her happy. She smiles and there is a special softness in her bright eyes that you could stare into forever. As the laughter dies down and it’s silent, just you and she and the dip in the centre of her lower lip where her dorky-divine buck-teeth would be sitting were her mouth not slightly open, your hands find their way to her hips and her fingers dance their way to your hair, her lips are still parted and you feel self-conscious because it’s been a long time but oh _God_ this is perfect and you didn’t even know you wanted this until-

Until her cheeks flush bright red and she rolls off you hastily, crawling to the window and sitting bolt upright with her back to you. She stares out at the sky, the reflection of her worried expression just visible in the glass and you can’t contain a sigh.  

“Jade?”

“They’re bright.”

“I…” You’re lost. Words were only ever your forte when you _didn’t_ have important things to say.

“Yeah,” You settle for after a pause too long to be comfortable. “I guess they are.”

“Even from so far away, real bright! Don’t you think that’s cool? That we can see them from all the way down here? Makes you wonder if they can see us, too, right?”

Hindsight will add more insight to these seemingly simple words than you will ever want it to. For now, though, you don’t understand and you’re guessing she’s just making conversation to try and forget that the two of you were just about a hairs breath away from turning something wonderful into something awful.

“I think you’ve been awake too long.” Is all you can say and you hate yourself as soon as you watch her shoulder blades droop through the thin fabric of her nightshirt for not being philosophical and scientific and all the things she’d probably like you to be.

You watch her in the glow until your eyelids get heavy and when you wake up she’s still by the window, in the light where she belongs. You think you’d like to keep her there forever.

You almost forget you can’t.

Almost.

 

~~******* ~~

 

Work is surprised that you want to take all your paid holiday at once but doesn’t complain. You haven’t missed a day in the two years you’ve been working there – your boss even says you _earned_ it and you feel a glow of pride at the fact that someone noticed you existed, and that pretty much summarises your feelings about life since Jade got here; for the first time in forever you feel like you’re real.

You mean something to people. You feel whole and it feels good.

Your bedroom becomes the stuff-room: you mostly just sleep on the floor of the living room now. Jade Harley has been your unofficial roommate for three weeks now but it feels more like three days and you still don’t even know what she’s searching for – frankly, you don’t mind. You will never get tired of her lazy yawns in the mornings or the way she complains that your hair is too short but never takes her hands out of it anyway. You like the way she kicks her legs in her sleep and her disastrous culinary adventures will never fail to put a smile on your stupid face.

It occurs to you all too suddenly one evening, your arm wrapped around her shoulders as you both laugh sloppily at some terribly sappy romcom from the 80’s she chose despite your protests that it looked _awful,_ that you don’t know what you would do if she left, or rather _when_ she leaves because in the back of your mind there is the nagging thought that eventually she will. Jade will go out and fend for herself and you will be nowhere to protect her. You won’t be there to brush her hair and listen to her cry - who will carry her to her bed and be the victim of her incessant clothes-stealing in your place? It occurs to you, though you try to ignore it, that what was initially a question of want is now a question of need.

It also occurs to you that you don’t mind.

You don’t mind needing and being needed. You are comfortable. No, not comfortable; you are _happy_ despite being in a situation that you are no longer in control of _._

“This movie sucks.” You remark, drawing your attention back to the screen. You’re _happy. Happy happy happy._

You feel moisture on your hand and your stomach lurches. When you look to her, her face is more miserable than you ever wanted to know it could be and there are silent tears streaming down onto her shirt in a way that suggests she’s been doing this for some time. She makes no sound or attempt to make eye contact with you and your hands linger in the air awkwardly as you try to figure out what to do to rectify this situation. For some reason this is so much scarier than when she was outright sobbing and all you can think to do is pull her to you, feeble and weak when she needs you most. She doesn’t object, but she doesn’t fully accept it either.

Just like that everything is wrong again and you can’t imagine a world where it’s right.

You’re stupid for having thought for a second that having this kind of affection for a person could ever be a blessing. You’re awful for being so conceited as to think you could ever be strong enough to protect her.

“I miss it. I miss it so much.”

You’re ridiculous for thinking you could understand her, disgusting for continuing to pretend you do when she sees right through you anyway. “I know.” You lie. “I know you do.” You don’t know shit about anything anymore.

“No, you don’t.” She whispers in return. “You’re lovely, but you don’t.”

You’re stupid for thinking she needed you as much as you needed her.

You don’t know how long she’s been hurting. You don’t even know why and you don’t know how to make it right and you don’t know why you care and it’s not fair that she has this hold on you after all this time because back then it was just a crush and it shouldn’t have meant anything so why does it mean anything now and then you’re crying because you don’t understand and she’s crying harder because she _does_ understand, she understands completely and she knows and she _always_ knew and she’s evil and you hate her but she’s wonderful and she’s yours and-

“Please don’t go.”

“I’m not going to, I still have to stay for a while.”

“Just don’t go.”

“I know, I’m not going to leave-“

“I’ve been so lonely.”

The words don’t sound like your own. You’re selfish for admitting it when she’s probably aching worse. Her hands stroke at your hair and you clutch each other for a long time but it brings no comfort: it feels like you’re strangers united by a natural disaster instead of  people that should know each other inside out by now, but you will settle for the familiar comfort of second best because you don’t know any different.

You will always settle for second best where she will so obviously strive for the best for everyone, yet neither of you can figure out why this isn’t working as smoothly as you want it to, both too frightened to face the facts.

Later she tries to get you to look out at the stars again, but you shake your head and take her by the hand. Still in your pyjamas and long past caring about what your neighbours think of you, you lead her out of your apartment and up the stairs on your floor. She complains about the ache in her thighs after two flights but you keep going - you have to get all the way to the top, you have to fix this.

You drag her out onto the roof, ignoring her protests about how illegal this must be having just witnessed you pick the lock to the door right at the very top of the stairs, and just watch to see what she will do. It is important right now to do what you want to take your mind off what you need; words will fail you but reckless abandon and blind leaps of faith have always been your ally.

You watch as she steps out gingerly onto the rooftop and follow her to the edge. You are her shadow and for what it’s worth you may as well have never wanted to be anything else. Brown palms reach up to touch the sky and you watch her spin round and round and round, spellbound by how one tiny girl can make you feel so many things in such a short space of time.

“They’re so close!”

You nod blindly, hearing but not listening.

 “I could _touch_ them, Dave! They’re _so close_ here!”

“The stars? Yeah, I guess.”

She turns and stares at you as if you’re the stupidest sack of shit she’s ever seen.

“ _No,_ Dave.”

You stare right back, waiting for an answer. You glance up to the sky, then back to her. You repeat it a few more times before finally giving in and shrugging. She rolls her eyes at you and throws her hands up in despair.

“The _trolls_ , Dave! Our _friends_! Our friends from far away!”

Your emotions will give you whiplash this evening if you are not careful.

The world spins around you and you are certain you will vomit:

This situation is messed up in more ways than you gave it credit for.

The topic is laid to rest. Neither of you discuss what took place, but she doesn’t sleep on the floor as often as she used to. Going up to the roof at 2am to fetch her and tuck her into your own bed to warm her up has become a regular routine. Mostly you just try not to think about it.

You put the pieces together one by one as more information surfaces, partially to pass the increasing amount of time you find yourself alone, partially to berate yourself further for being dense:

She arrives in your city and she’s looking for something, ecstatic when you tell her she can crash at your _tall as fuck_ apartment building with a _glass front._ She was obsessed with starstuff even before you guys stopped talking and her only books were to do with telescopes. The final blow comes when she reveals she was looking for an observatory on a hill that it turns out was demolished three years ago. You tell her and feel guiltier than the people who knocked it down in the first place. She crashes on the roof. She watches the stars whenever she can.

And all this time, you were stupid enough to assume she was looking for you, that she missed you.

Jade Harley never needed your help at all.

She certainly didn’t need _you_ at all.

 

~~******* ~~

 

It’s 3am and you’re watching her sleeping. Again.

You always said she belonged to the sun.

The bitter irony of that statement now burns in your chest and it’s only for fear of waking her that you stop yourself smashing your bedside lamp. Her heart quite literally belongs to the sky and there is nothing you can do about it. If it were any different, any easier, it wouldn’t be her.

You never had a chance at being what she wanted. You are too human, too constrained.

Jade Harley only ever wanted the stars.

Dave Strider only ever wanted Jade Harley.

You fall asleep in her baggy grey sweater. It’s big on her, but bigger on you since she stopped cooking for the two of you and you reverted back to convenience food. It doesn’t taste the same when she’s there and you’re here. It doesn’t make _sense_ that she can be there and you can be here when you’re sat in the same room, but if you’re honest with yourself things stopped making sense a long time ago.

She looks at you like you’re nothing, like you proved once and for all that your shell didn’t contain the cargo she was searching for and it’s wrong in so many ways but you feel more heartache over disappointing her than effectively being left to rot.

Yeah, you’re being pretty fucking melodramatic about the whole deal.

“I’m not sorry.” You admit to deaf ears. Her mind is somewhere else, dreaming of all places she’d rather be than with you. “I’m not sorry I ran after you. I’m not sorry we played that stupid game. I’m not sorry I wasted months on a girl that I didn’t know I was ever going to meet in person.

I can’t give you what you want but I can keep you safe if you’ll let me. I know I’m not the one you want but I love you despite the fact that it’s making me miserable. Does that count for anything?”

 

She snuffles in her sleep, grinning sloppily. There is drool in the corner of her mouth and this is where you’re supposed to think she looks pretty anyway but you’re giving up on being the hero of this story so you shrug your shoulders and laugh quietly.

She doesn’t look pretty with her hair all in a mess and saliva on her face, but she does look like Jade and that’s… better.

“Looking out for everyone else is going to make you sick.”

Her voice startles you and you snap back to reality to find two green eyes locked onto yours.

“I’m not a kid, Dave. I’m not some pet that you have a responsibility to care for. You don’t have to-“

“I want to.”

“I’m fine by myself-“

“Then why are you still here?”

She frowns at you and if looks could kill you’d have died five times.

“I want to.” You repeat before she has a chance to say something that will hurt. “And one day, you’re going to get tired of running all over the shit and you’re going to want me to.” It’s not the right response but you begin to laugh again anyway, louder this time than before. “I’m the fucking _knight_ and I messed it up once – I’m _done_ with regretting all the things I didn’t do properly. I don’t care how long it takes, Harley. I don’t care how far I have to chase you to bring you back. I wasted half a lifetime trying to forget you, I think I can afford to wait a little longer.”

You watch her crumple and take her hand when she reaches for you. It’s not enough and she’s not letting you in but you meant what you said.

“Waiting hurts.” She finally mumbles.

“I know.” You mumble back.

“No you don’t.”

 

~~******* ~~

 

You wake up at 1:30 and stretch your back out. Your bones are still too long and everything aches from a lack of sleep but you have a girl to fetch.

The apartment is cold when she’s not there and you waste no time leaving it, the eerie silence created by the absence of her breath sending shivers down your spine and aches through your heart. You climb the stairs in double time and step out onto the rooftop.

The stars greet your face, shining brighter than you’ve seen them in a long time without her to draw a contrast. They are mocking you. She is not here.

“Harley?”

Silence is unnerving and you continue to call until your voice is hoarse despite it being pretty fucking obvious that _she’s not here._ Words from two nights back echo in your head and you retrace steps mentally for signs that she wasn’t herself yesterday which is rich seeing as you’re not sure what’s her and what’s your ideal of her anymore.

_Then why are you still here?_

It was a horrible thing to say. It can’t be sugar-coated and you’re overthinking it because _that’s what you do_ but you can’t help but think that’s the reason she’s gone.

Gone.

You nearly fall down the stairs as you run back in double time, grabbing two sweaters and your car keys and holy shit your thighs are going to kill from all these stairs tomorrow but you don’t trust the lift and you need to find her _fast._

_You’re not going to slip through my fingers this time, Harley._

_Not this time._

You drive by streetlight. The light pollution means it’s never really dark in your city but without her everything is greyscale regardless. The nearest blocks are covered in twenty minutes and you’re at a loss. She couldn’t have reached the station by herself in the dark – her navigational skills were shocking and she wasn’t used to walking at night. Panic tightens your chest as you wonder if some creep abducted her.

She’s only been looking for one place on the maps and it doesn’t even exist anymore.

You’re slowly getting why it was so important for her to be so close to space though it still seems ridiculous.

It makes utterly no sense for her to be there, but you drive out to the hill on the outskirts of town anyway, scanning the streets as you go for any signs of a leggy girl in a grey jumper. Your parking sucks but you don’t give a shit if you get fined right now. The metal gates clearly instruct you to ‘Keep out’ and you use the sign as a foothold as you scramble up and over, landing on the grass with a thud on the other side. Eyes scan the hill and lock onto a dark shape huddled at the top, knees pulled up to her chest.

It’s not a big hill and the rubble is all but clear now- nonetheless, you are hesitant. You approach the foot of the mound slowly and think for a while about the past few weeks that brought you here. In theory, she found what she was always looking for. In practice, something is missing. Something small and grey that understands what it is like to be an outsider, what it means to kill to survive.

Shoes you can’t fill and sweaters she can’t replace.

You said a lot and thought a lot while she was here but nothing was right because she was still waiting for something, some kind of sign or confirmation despite the obvious evidence they were never coming back. She’s been lying to herself and she probably knows it, just like you were when you said you didn’t miss her.

You think back to the moment you admitted you did and remember how it stung at first and then faded into relief. You didn’t have to pretend anymore. You were no longer waiting for inevitable pain.

It’s so simple, but all this time the words she needed to hear weren’t about you or her or life.

“Jade,” You call up eventually. “They’re not coming back. “

 

She turns to you, tears in her perfect eyes, and smiles weakly.

“Thank you.”

You walk up to meet her and take her by the hand.

The two of you remain silent all the while you drive.

It is not comfortable but the air lacks the thickness it held before. She turns to you in the passenger seat and asks if you’re taking her home, to which you reply that you are and you’re relieved to see her relax into her seat.

“I just needed to hear it from someone else – I needed to know I wasn’t crazy.” She admits, chewing on her lower lip.

“I know the feeling.”

She stares at you for a long time, her eyes burning into the side of your face. It’s a good job there are no other cars on the road.

“I want to stay with you. “ She says finally and you gawp at her in disbelief.

“What?”

“You said you needed to hear it from someone else.” A smile crosses her lips.

“You can stop chasing me, Strider. I’m coming home.”

You pull over and kiss her in the front seat, a tangle of hands and hair and desperation to explore what was previously, though unspoken, off-limits and she feels better than any drunk girl in a half-decent nightclub though neither of you are using your tongues and it’s wet and sloppy as hell. You part, breathless and embarrassed and laughing in between gasping for air.

“Let’s go home, Harley.”

She smiles at you in agreement and she’s never looked better.

You properly for the first time in weeks and wake up to everything you ever wanted in the form of the girl you finally managed to help fix herself.

“Good morning,” She sings.

And it will be. 

**Author's Note:**

> Longest oneshot type thing I ever wrote gosh.  
> Cliched title but I was listening to it and it was helping.  
> This is so horribly ooc but I'm iiiiiiill and boooored sigh.  
> I hope you enjoyed this pointless fluff!


End file.
